Forbidden Temptation

by Gwynne Forster

  As if he knew he’d jarred her sensibilities, he said, “We’re almost there, and don’t you forget you promised me coffee and cheesecake.”

  “Not to worry. If I promise you something, you can put your life on it.”

  “I know,” he said, parking the car in front of Lena’s Parfait, their usual haunt. “That’s not my worry. The problem is what you’re careful not to promise.” He ignored her gasp, got out and walked around the car to help her out.

  “Thanks. You’re a darling.”

  “Glad to know it. Looks as if the snow has stopped, at least for now. I was worried about you driving in that stuff.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I drive in heavy snow. Boy, I can already taste Lena’s caramel cake.” Without thinking she took his hand and started toward Lena’s. He squeezed her fingers, and she cautioned herself to think nothing of it, that he was just being Luther, friendly and dependable.

  “You are not paying for anything,” she told Luther later when he reached for the bill. “I told you I was treating you to cheesecake and coffee, and you agreed.”

  “But I ate three slices.”

  “So what? Deal with that when you get on the scales tomorrow.” For reasons she didn’t dare question, she reached across the little table and tweaked his nose. “Such a handsome face! For goodness’ sake, wipe that scowl off it.”

  He stared at her as if she were a recent arrival from Mars. Stared and stared until shivers raced through her and she had the feeling that her blood had begun to run backward. She grabbed the sides of her chair to steady herself. Uncomfortable with the silence, she said, “Don’t you have to be at that place at a certain time?”

  He didn’t answer, but stood, not taking his gaze from her. “Let’s go.”

  She reminded herself to be careful with him. Lately, he’d gotten to be so mercurial. A few minutes ago, he was playful. Now, he was moody. Oh, what the heck. He seemed dead set on keeping her at a distance, but that wouldn’t kill her.

  He parked on Lanier Street in the heart of Penwood, a village of about twenty-five hundred people. “Let’s meet at my shop. I’ll drive behind you, okay? Be back in a few minutes.”

  About five minutes later, the sound of a horn behind her got her attention, and she saw from her rearview mirror a white stretch Town Car. She flashed her lights, and he flashed in response. My, my. The brother’s got a rich customer. She pulled away from the curb and headed for the main highway that led to Detroit. He hadn’t said she should take the back road, and she didn’t intend to. Besides, the last thing she needed sitting alone in that car was a romantic environment. It hadn’t done any good earlier when she was in the car with him. She’d give anything to know what moved Luther Biggens. I sure as hell don’t. She refused to examine that thought, merely laughed at it.

  They arrived at her house around dusk, and, after having fought with herself about it from the time they left his showroom, she decided not to invite him in. She didn’t handle rejection well, and even if she did, she didn’t want anymore of it from him.

  He walked her to her front door, she opened it and looked him in the eye. “I had a wonderful time with you. Bye.” She reached up, kissed his cheek and turned to go inside. His grip on her left wrist startled her.

  He stared down at her, his eyes ablaze with she didn’t know what. Anger? It couldn’t be passion. He didn’t feel that kind of heat for her. He stopped her apology before she could utter it.

  “A kiss on the cheek is the last thing I want from you.” Without another word, he whirled around and, with his limp more obvious than usual, he left her standing there. She didn’t remember him leaving her outside of her door once in the twenty-six years she’d known him.

  She went inside and closed the door. “Men! I wish I understood them…or at least that one.” I think I saw pain in him when I tweaked his nose and again when I kissed his cheek. Lord, I hope not. I wouldn’t hurt him for anything.

  At home that evening, Maggie presented Luther with another gourmet dinner, the centerpiece of which was a roasted duck with orange sauce. “If you continue to cook like this, Maggie, I’ll soon be dirt poor,” he told her, savoring the tasty food.

  “Betcha won’t,” she said, enjoying her own cooking. “Check my book over there on the sideboard. I do intelligent planning, and I’m spending only sixty-three percent of what you told me to spend on food. I just ain’t buying hot dogs, potato salad and coleslaw from the deli the way you used to do, and I make the bread and the deserts, ’cause homemade tastes better, is cleaner and healthier. Say amen to that, Mr. B.”

  He showed his teeth in a wide grin. “Amen to that, Miss M.”

  “You quit laughing at me. You hear?” She tossed her head in the manner of a woman who knows what she means to a man, looked at him and then lowered her lashes. “I cooked for some other corporate giants in my day, and ain’t a one of them that won’t have me back tomorrow if I was stupid enough to go. I haven’t smelled a drop of hard liquor since I been here, and the first thing to hit my nose when I entered those houses was liquor. You’re a fine man, Mr. B, and some girl somewhere is gonna discover that.” She sucked on the bone of a duck leg. “At least I hope. Reminds me of a fine canoe floating on the water and deteriorating from nonuse. I do declare.”

  His fork clattered against his plate. “What did you say?”

  “No use asking. You heard me.” She enjoyed a heaping forkful of garlic mashed potatoes. “And the longer that canoe stays out on that lake, the less use it’ll be to anybody.”

  Feeling defenseless, he said, “You are one irreverent woman.”

  “Am I telling you anything your mother wouldn’t tell you?”

  He flexed his right shoulder in a slight shrug. “Not really. But she doesn’t pester me about it, Maggie, because she knows I don’t have much tolerance for that.”

  “Humph. I know it, too. But I’m not your mother. I’m your friend. Want some ice cream on your apple pie?”

  “You bet. And if you don’t stop spoiling me, no woman will want me.”

  She got up and headed for the kitchen. “The sex ratio ain’t that lopsided yet,” she said over her shoulder. “Women love sweet men. All you got to do is open your eyes and pay attention to what you hear.”

  “Do you ever make cheesecake, Maggie?”

  “I used to, but people are so worried about cholesterol these days that I stopped making ’em. I can make you one if you like.”

  “I guess not,” he said, and didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. “It’s just my favorite thing to eat. I had three big wedges this afternoon at Lena’s Parfait over in Penwood.”

  “Can’t blame you. Everything she makes is first class…and very rich. I wouldn’t do that on a regular basis if I were you.”

  He got up and took his plate and two serving dishes to the kitchen. “I’m going to the officers’ club. How soon can you be ready? I’ll drop you off on my way.” He scraped the plates and put them in the dishwasher.

  “Thanks, Mr. B. This won’t take me but about fifteen minutes. Then, I’ll just grab my hat and coat, and we can leave.”

  He went up to his room, checked his answering machine and got his guitar. The thought of joining a small group of musicians appealed to him, and it would assure that he practiced regularly. He leaned against the doorjamb and inhaled deeply. He’d always been honest with himself and others, and when he was in war zones, that honesty had saved his life on more than one occasion. He faced the truth, and it was not a happy moment.

  He was going back to the club because he was comfortable there. It was the one place in which he gave thanks for his blessings instead of cursing his misfortune. He dropped Maggie off at her house and headed for the officers’ club.

  “Hey, man, I see you brought your instrument,” a captain he’d met on his previous visit said. “Feel like playing a spell? I have my violin. What do you like?”

  “Classical, jazz or blues, but since I haven’t played recently, let’s stick to j
azz.”

  “Works for me. Hey, Perkins, how about joining us for some jazz?”

  “Count me in,” another said.

  “Let’s go over there, Luther,” Roger said. “Linden plays the cello, but he can’t move it around much. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Luther said. “He doesn’t seem to—”

  “He can’t lift five pounds,” Roger whispered. “Imagine, a man can’t even hold his child. Still, he’s so personable and great fun to be with. Sometimes you forget he’s disabled.”

  Jazz turned to blues, and it was hours later when Luther drove home. That evening was just what he needed. He’d been living exclusively among people who made themselves forget that without this prosthesis he’d be hobbling around like a three-legged pup. He had enjoyed being with men like himself, men who faced their lot unapologetically, making a life for themselves and their families. Compared to them, he could hardly consider himself to be disabled.

  He entered his kitchen whistling “When the Saints Go Marching In,” ate the cookies Maggie had left for him, drank half of the glass of milk, went to bed and slept soundly. Tomorrow he had a new goal—to find out exactly where he stood with Ruby.

  Chapter 6

  After supper Ruby sat down to work out her next lecture at the Morningside Community Center. She hadn’t dreamed that her lectures would be so popular. The local TV station would be interviewing her and broadcasting a sixty-second clip of the lecture, and news accounts of her second lecture had brought new business to her consulting firm. No matter how she struggled to make the lecture new and interesting, no useful ideas came to mind.

  Luther’s last words when he left her at her door continued to plague her. If he didn’t want her kiss on his cheek, what did he want from her? Nothing? All of a sudden, she rejected that thought with stunning finality. When she’d covered his hand with hers, he’d encouraged her, she recalled, even caressed her hand. That was a far more intimate act than her kiss on his cheek. Deep in thought now, she rubbed her forehead. Something wasn’t right. The man had been giving her mixed signals lately, innuendos, too, as if she didn’t know a come-on when she saw or heard one. He didn’t want her? Or he didn’t want her to know he wanted her?

  She closed her laptop, jumped up and walked to the window that overlooked the back garden, bleak now from the ravages of winter. Had she and Luther imagined those snowflakes that lulled them into sentimental reminiscences? She slapped her right cheek with the palm of her hand. “I’ve been stupid!” she said aloud. “When did I ever want something and not go after it?”

  She raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Where the devil did I put that cheesecake recipe?”

  The phone rang as Luther headed into the house from the officers’ club. He grabbed it right before the machine picked up. It was Paul Gutierrez.

  “Paul! How’s it going, man?

  “Couldn’t be better. Amber and I want you to come out to L.A. We’re having Joachim christened, and we don’t want to do that unless his godfather is present.”

  “I’m honored, Paul. Who’s the godmother?”

  “Amber can’t decide which of her sisters it should be, so Joachim will have three godmothers. Crazy, but man, you know these Lockhart women. They’re togetherness personified. Problem is that even with three godmothers, none of them can make it. Amber doesn’t seem to mind too much. Each of them sent a letter confirming her willingness and ability to raise Joachim if need be. That’s enough for us. Can you come out this weekend?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Two days later, he held the happy, energetic child and spoke the vows that bound him to the little boy for as long as they both lived. As an adult, he hadn’t spent much time around small children, and hadn’t realized that he would derive so much pleasure from interacting with an infant. He didn’t want to release the child for his nap and feeding, and followed Paul to the nursery.

  “Having my son with me has changed my life,” Paul told him. “Watching him grow and noticing how he learns things, copying what he sees. It’s…I can’t explain what I feel when he’s with me. And Amber is a born mother. When I met her, that was the last role I would have cast her in, but she’s wonderful.”

  “I can see that, and I’m proud of her.”

  “I heard you dropped by the officers’ club. How’d you like it there?”

  “Long story, man,” Luther said. “I look at myself, at my…I can’t even call it a disability anymore, considering what most of those men are dealing with. I’m fortunate. And I’m playing the guitar again. You don’t know how good a feeling that is. Life is good.”

  Paul draped an arm across Luther’s shoulder and led him toward the living room. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long while. I’d hang out there regularly, if I were you. Next time I’m in Detroit, I’d like to go with you. Yeah, that’s great news.”

  Amber walked in and looked at them with an inquiring expression on her face. “What’s great news? Luther, how are things with Ruby?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What things? What do you mean?”

  Amber sat down on the sofa. “From the time I first knew you, Luther, you and Ruby were as tight as could be. You went together like cheese and crackers. What happened?”

  How could he tell her the way in which he had screwed up? He couldn’t. He took a long, deep breath and blew it out slowly, an act that sharpened their focus on him. “I think back on those days when she and I were such good friends, when she was closer to me than anyone in my family except my mother. That was an era of innocence, a time when life was sweet, and we had no idea how sweet it was. I suppose it’s over.” He hadn’t meant to sound dramatic or sentimental, but he couldn’t help it. The feeling came from the pain in his heart.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way, man,” Paul said. “If I’d put up with Amber’s nonsense, I wouldn’t have her this minute.” He looked at his wife. “Am I right?”

  “Yes, you’re right,” she said, “but when you made up your mind, you played hardball. I’m not sure I could have gotten away from you if I’d wanted to, and I didn’t. You moved me from the minute I set eyes on you, but I didn’t let on.”

  “How’d you know you loved her?” Luther asked Paul.

  “It was everything, man. I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t stay away from her, and I thought of her all the time. When she became more important to me than anything or anyone, and when she needed me and let me know it, and I realized I didn’t want another man to have her, I capitulated. The jig was up, man.”

  Luther listened quietly, refusing to admit to them that Ruby possessed his heart. Would the day ever come when he and Ruby could discuss their games with each other? Was she pretending not to care for him? He didn’t dare hope. Besides, if she cared, would anything about him, including his prosthesis, repel her to the extent that she would run away from him as she had the night after Christmas?

  “Life doesn’t stand still,” he said to Amber and Paul, feeling like their elder, “and sometimes it doesn’t pay to look back. ‘Long ago’ isn’t worth a wink.”

  As he flew back to Detroit the next morning, he wondered at his own words. He didn’t want to restore the past. The last thing he needed was a brother-sister relationship with Ruby. He couldn’t handle that, feeling about her as he did. Once he had made love with her, he could no longer treat her platonically. And of all the people who knew them both, he believed that Amber had guessed his true feelings for her oldest sister.

  He sensed that by going to California, he had burdened himself unduly. Being there with Paul, Amber and Joachim brought to the surface longings he’d kept buried for five years. The desire for a family. For a woman who loved him and who gave him children that he could nurture and love. He wiped a tear. I’ll be damned if I’ll give up.

  Ruby didn’t bother to telephone Luther, because she wanted all the advantages, including being able to see his face and judge his reaction when he saw
her. She also decided to go to his showroom rather than his house. When you were dealing with Luther, you had to lock all your gates, dot your i’s and cross your t’s, because he had shrewdness down to perfection. She didn’t want him to think she was aiming to be alone with him. She wanted him, not a one-night affair.

  “Ruby! What a surprise!” She hoped he was glad to see her, but the frown on his face suggested the opposite, and she had never figured out what he was thinking when he narrowed his left eye as he did then.

  “Hi,” she said. “I was thinking about the fun we had the other day in Penwood, and I made you something.” She handed him a parcel. He took it and continued looking at her until, in a fit of nerves, she ran her hands up and down her sides. “What’s the matter, Luther? Shouldn’t I have come?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes. Come on in.” He led her into the lounge. “What’s in here?”

  She could see that he’d guessed the package’s contents for his eyes sparkled with anticipation, the way a child’s eyes do at the sight of a new toy. “I should have brought you some coffee,” she said, suddenly self-conscious. Wanting Luther in the way a woman wants a man seemed strange at times.

  He put the package on the coffee table. “If this is what I think it is, you may be in trouble.”

  She crossed her legs and leaned back in the big leather chair. “What kind of trouble? Is it trouble that I’ll enjoy?”

  He stared at her for a second, then casually picked up the bag and opened it. “Tell me this isn’t cheesecake?” he said. “If it is, I am definitely not responsible for the way I behave.” He took the cake out of the bag, put it on the coffee table and fished in the bag until he found a knife, fork and napkins. She watched him cut a slice and taste it, savoring it as if it were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. He left the room, returned with two cups of coffee, gave her one and drank half of the other.